


Granite & Cristal

by Keystoffees



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Benedict Cumberbatch - Freeform, Champagne, Cumberbatch Ice Bucket Challenge, F/M, Ice Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-15 10:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2225475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keystoffees/pseuds/Keystoffees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the ice bucket challenge, Benedict wants to celebrate with Champagne on his roof terrace...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Strains of James' Chopin CD waft around you on the light breeze as you pad barefoot onto the roof terrace and smile at the ice still littering the patio. Tiny, sparkly fragments glisten in the evening sun, scattered around patchy splash marks that are half dried and fading against the grey slabs. As you tiptoe through the puddles, trying to find a dry patch on the wooden slatted bench on which to perch, you hear a deep voice humming to himself, not quite along with the music.

His friends have all gone, the giggling and taunting over, now he has soaked himself through five times in the name of charity. He enjoyed every second of it, directing himself and making sure it was poised just right to make people laugh. You threw the second bucket over him and delighted in the tease of the shower scene almost as much as he did. And you saw the the look in his eyes, reserved only for you, as he stripped off. 

Now pottering around his flat, gathering discarded wet clothes and hanging items to dry, he is delightfully relaxed. You hear the fat pop of a champagne cork accompanied by a small giggle and the clink of glasses and he appears through the French windows, grinning. Tatty grey shorts and a blue Pink Floyd t-shirt hang off him, damp hair curling scruffily. He paces towards you and hands you the champagne flutes, catching your eye as he does and you see a hint of drama in them, betraying their usual kindness.

Sitting next to you, close but not touching, he pours you both a glass and places the half depleted bottle on the ground, tucked carefully under the bench so you don't knock it over. You watch as he takes a sip and his eyes focus on your mouth as he does, his large hand resting on his bare knee before he unconsciously rubs his thigh. Smiling to yourself at his mannerisms, you close your eyes and savour the bubbles and the acidic taste of the champagne as it coats the back of your throat. When you swallow and open your eyes he is staring at you.

Without speaking, he puts his glass down next to the bottle and leans closer. He stretches his legs out for balance as he stares intently into your eyes and you see him quirk his eyebrow up. Seeking approval momentarily, he waits for you to nod but before he can kiss you, you sneak another mouthful of Champagne. 

Chuckling, he catches your lips suddenly as you move the glass away from your mouth. With closed lips, he presses against you and holds himself there, both of you inhaling, luxuriating in the crackle of excitement you both feel when your skin touches for the first time. You feel the tickle of his breath against your top lip and he begins, slowly, to open his mouth. Your close your eyes. His lips move and he sucks gently at your bottom lip, pulling it in and releasing it in a slow rhythm. 

Time has slowed right down and your whole body starts to tingle as the alcohol is absorbed into your blood, or is it the scent of this man who is so close, begging to be allowed closer? The tip of his tongue catches your lips, and you instinctively open your mouth. The kiss has almost ground to a halt as you become two people whose mouths are locked together, unmoving, revelling in the taste of each other. You sit like that for an eternity, breathing in synch with one another, all noise or distraction blocked out by the other's presence.

Hours pass between you, but too soon, you both pull away. Locking eyes once more, you place your glass beside you and cross your arms in front of your stomach to pull your t-shirt off. A shiver wracks your bare torso but you don't notice, because even before you have dropped your clothing on the ground, he places his warm hand on the most sensitive part of your neck, just below your ear. Running it gently down, his fingers graze sensually across your collar bone and sweep over your breast, your nipple hardening immediately.

You reach out and tug the blue t-shirt over his head. You can see the grey material of his shorts beginning to strain at his crotch and you deliberately brush over it as you throw his shirt on top of your own. He growls, this time without a hint of humour, and it is a predatory, arousing rumble. You breathe out shakily as desire floods between your legs and the ache that began pleasantly starts to become uncomfortable.

Instinctively, you lean back against the damp wooden bench as he crawls up onto it, on his knees between yours. Two huge and - you know from previous experience - skilled, hands rest either side of your head, securing you underneath him and eliciting an anticipatory gasp from your lips. 

One hand at a time, he slips the straps of your bra over your shoulders, letting them hang loosely at your arms while he bends to kiss your mouth again. You fight playfully against him, trying to reach up to be as close to his mouth as you can, biting his lips aggressively before he pulls away and you feel the tickle of his curls on your chin as his head moves lower. Nudging the fabric of your bra with his nose, he scoops your left, and then right, breast out. Carefully avoiding your nipples, he drives you to distraction with his lips, brushing and nibbling the sensitive skin of your breasts as if it was the entire purpose of this whole activity. He isn't hurried, merely content to focus all his attention on you, releasing small appreciative noises that mirror your own.

Just when you are on the verge of begging him to do something - anything - else, he dashes up, sweeping his chest over your face, so close to your nose that you could stick your tongue out to lick his abdomen. He reaches one arm over to something on the bench above your head. Confused, you are about to speak, when he returns to his previous position, only this time he licks ever so softly at your left nipple. It hardens again instantly and you groan at the warm, moist contact. 

You are not expecting the stabbing, icy pain on your right breast as he rubs one of the last remaining ice cubes in circles over your nipple. You yelp in shock as he continues until the cold water drips down in all directions, and once the ice is gone he immediately covers the tight pink bud with his mouth. Drowning out the cold with his hot tongue, which he swirls around and around, he chuckles lowly to himself, sending the vibration through your chest.

Your hand reaches down to grasp at him through the cotton shorts, feeling his cock through the fabric as it pushes outwards, unconstrained by underwear. It twitches between your fingers as you squeeze gently and rub at him, and he jerks his body back, away from your hand. You know it's because he doesn't want this to be over too soon so you don't pursue it further, letting your arm still against the back of the bench. 

He reaches down to the ground, searching for something with one hand, while the other moves to the button of your jeans and pops it open. Slowly and carefully, he slides down the zipper as you lift your hips to make it easier to inch away your trousers. 

His hand having found what he was searching for under the bench, he sits back up on his knees between your legs. Determined not to spoil whatever it is he has planned, you sigh and close your eyes, and you wait...


	2. Chapter 2

You lie, exposed, on the bench on his roof terrace, one arm above your head, the other resting on his muscular thigh. His skin is soft but with a fuzz of sparse hair beneath your fingers, and you absently dance them across him while you wait...

...The cold, velvety liquid runs down, over your pelvic bone, running into tiny rivers and finding a path onto the bench beneath. The chill in the early evening air is suddenly apparent as the champagne crackles against your warm body. Still, you wait, as the coolness of the sticky trail is forgotten, overtaken by the hot, wet tongue that laps up the liquid from the top of your legs. He licks slowly, tasting the alcohol as he moves. 

You are squirming with delight as you feel the gentle trickle of more champagne between your legs, where you want it, NEED it most. The sensation as the bubbles evaporate into the air against your swollen clit is subtle and wonderfully erotic. This time, you open your eyes to peer at him from between your raised knees. He fixes you with his blue-green eyes while he takes a long drink, straight from the expensive champagne bottle. Placing it on the ground once again, his head dips down and you feel the brush of the stubble on his chin against your thigh.

His long, deep groan is accompanied by a long, slow lick; catching what's left of the champagne as the last few drops run down your soaked ass and onto the bench. His tongue works away, dipping in to you before focusing on your throbbing bud, alternating between soft flicks and firm sucks. You gasp as you feel another wave of arousal and he mirrors you, in agreement. 

He moves one arm up to tease gently at your nipples while he devours you. You squirm with delight as those fingers play with your sensitive peaks and his tongue dances just inside you. You can feel the orgasm building and you know he knows it. In tune with your cues, he pulls away slightly, an admiring, lustful smirk on his lips as he watches you breathing heavily. Then he begins again, building you up only to leave you wanting. 

You can no longer hear the music, lost as you are in the powerful, deep groans he's rumbling against your quivering skin. Finally, he releases a loud, frustrated sigh and renews his efforts, burying his nose into your folds and tilting his head as he pulls your clit between his teeth to suck you until you scream his name. Thrusting your fingers into his damp hair, you pull gently on his curls as your climax racks your body and he moans along with you, in tune with every pulse. 

As the pleasure drifts slowly away, you are left panting hoarsely, suddenly aware that there are sticky puddles of champagne underneath you, chilling your skin again in the evening breeze. You look down at his face in the dusky light to see that same glint in his green eyes; their commanding tone met with obvious affection and joy in having brought you pleasure. You move to sit up, to kiss his shiny pink lips, still glazed with your own fluid. But he jumps down, off the bench, grabbing your hands and pulling you the rest of the way up, waiting for you to fling your shaky legs over the bench and stand on the concrete slabs. 

As he leads you slowly back inside his flat, he tells you in hushed, mellifluous tones, exactly what he would like to do to you while you stand under his shower.


End file.
